Forbid and Forget
by ElGato44
Summary: A conversation between a father and son about recent events and about the woman they both love.


Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Koei. This was mostly inspired by _Oedipus Rex_ and the _Tales of Genji_. Tomomasa's and Takamichi's characters are loosely based on Genji.

Warning: This is M for a reason. If you took notice to my inspiration and are familiar with the work's you'll see why. If you don't like it, don't shout at me through reviews. Don't read it. I will accept constructive criticism, but flames are a no-no. Positive reviews are always welcome. And, no, I'm not a sicko. This is just psychoanalytical view. Enough of this, on to the story.

-Forbid and Forget-

Two burly men wearing strange swords at their sides, and loose turbans, led a young man through the grounds of the magnificent palace. They gripped his arms tightly and half-dragged him. The young man was partially dazed, his golden eyes struggling to stay open, behind a pair of spectacles. His upper lip was split and dried blood was caked under his nose. The bangs of his usually well-groomed long green hair were hanging loose and stringy, covering a healing cut from a few days ago on his brow, near his temple. He clenched his shaky hands, the knuckles on the right bloody and bruised, much like the cheekbone on one of the darker skinned men flanking him.

They stopped in front of a small enameled door and one of the muscular guards knocked. A deep, fluid voice beckoned them in. Wordlessly the men opened the door and entered the small study.

A man in dark robes was kneeling on the tatami floor, pouring over a scroll. He looked up, and rose with a smirk on his face. The man's eyes were just as golden as the young man's, but they were piercing, as if he could see right though you. The man's hair was long, straight and a dark forest green; not bound or tied like the young man's before him. He was handsome, and striking, impressive as if he were royalty. The man's golden eyes shifted to his guards and gave a jerk of his head.

"Go," his voice was captivating and direct; succinct and stern, leaving no room for rebuke. The strong men bowed and left, leaving the two golden-eyed men alone.

The younger man's expression was one of disdain and disgust.

"I should've known it was you," the young man's voice was dark and bitter. "What do you want?"

"I wanted to get the chance see the Byakko of Heaven, Takamichi. I assume that is what you are doing outside of the Civil Affairs Department."

Takamichi no Fujiwara scoffed, "Like you'd care. What father sends men to capture his son?"

The older Fujiwara narrowed his eyes, following the damage his loyal warriors inflicted upon his illegitimate son.

"Are you saying that you would arrive at my doorstep willingly if I sent a courier or a message?"

Takamichi's silence said it all. Fujiwara chuckled, and it wasn't a jolly chuckle. It was the type of laugh that made one uneasy, "I thought so."

"I'm surprised you have the gall to send your henchmen to my house and have them humiliate and beat me in front of the Miko and all of the Hachiyo. "

"Consider yourself lucky. Not all illegitimate children are as lucky as you. If I were anyone else you would've been thrown to the wolves a long time ago."

"Oh?" Takamichi's voice was dripping with sarcasm as he cocked his head to the side, "And I suppose I should credit all my success to your 'parenting' and not my sole hard work. You have the gall to say that in front of me. Did you just drag me here to mock me?"

Fujiwara worked his jaw, letting his son's cutting tone wash over him. He reached back to a small vase on his table and poured himself a small cup of sake.

"I was just wondering how you were doing. I heard from a viable resource about what happened with that woman oni and the seal a few days ago."

Takamichi's eyes went wide, surprised and petrified that his father had found out all about that incident. He had barely recovered from that fight. Even the cut near his temple was still smarting. Of course, he knew only one man who would dare tell his father about the incident.

"Tomomasa-dono…" Takamichi seethed. _Why does that ladykiller always have to meddle in my affairs?_

"He's only trying to take care of you in my stead…" Takamichi scoffed at the notion but Fujiwara continued, "You were upset afterwards. Did it have anything to do with your mother reappearing?"

The younger man's eye twitched as he was staring daggers at the head of the Fujiwara clan. Takamichi's jaw was set tight and breathing heavily through his nostrils in anger.

"How long has it been since you lost your mother?"

"I didn't lose her," Takamichi's tone was low and dangerous. Almost unrecognizable, like he was a different person. "The gods took her from me."

The possessiveness in the young man's tone shocked Fujiwara. It seemed he had underestimated the impact of his wife's loss would have on his son. _The gods took her from me._ That rang throughout his head and made little sense. Lady Fujiwara died of illness was no one's fault but the natural course of life. Maybe seeing her again was too much for young Takamichi to handle.

"She was," Fujiwara paused, softening his voice, showing a little how he felt about his late wife, "very kind to you then."

"Kind?" Takamichi's voice was barely audible and heavy. "She treated me like a human. Like a son. And I tried to be a dutiful son."

Fujiwara nodded, "Indeed. She showed you kindness in a world where there is none. But the incident, she was there. Trapped. And you were in danger as well. A mother risks her life for her child. A man risks his life for his beloved."

Takamichi flinched at the term. Gods, he sounded too much like Tomomasa. Or was it Tomomasa sounded too much like him. Whether the case, the treasury genius and the general needed to stop hanging around each other. Riddles of love and toying with emotions were their games.

"Tell me, boy, did you love your mother. Perhaps in a way different from what a son loves his mother?"

Takamichi didn't respond immediately, the question was so abhorrent. His eyes fluttered with his weariness and the sickness of the thought.

"No, that's disgusting," Takamichi's voice wasn't forceful, but a quiet whisper, the words barely escaping his mouth.

The handsome older man cocked an eyebrow, "Are you sure? Of course you were too young to have those feelings when she was alive. But after…perhaps her memory left a stain on your soul."

With a jerk of his head, Takamichi tried to avoid eye contact, not willing to be sucked into his father's games, which was getting harder the more Fujiwara spoke.

"You didn't notice it at first, but when the memories of her came back to you when you reached manhood it slowly escalated to what it is. As something as innocent as her hugging you. You wanted to feel her skin, to hear her whispers of love, to touch her soothing lips with your fingers, to submit to her and fall into her embrace."

A noticeable bob in his throat indicated that Fujiwara hit something of a nerve. What that nerve would bring out, he wasn't sure.

"It was all fleeting moments until you woke up with wet and sticky sheets. Then, something as innocent as hugging your mother became fuel to lust pit fire. And now you continue to even dream of her in such a way. Even thoughts of how things would've been different if she were alive. She could be yours now. You've thought of it, haven't you? If my lady were still alive, you would take her away from my jurisdiction and make her your own. After all…" Fujiwara traced the outer rim of the wine vase with his index finger, "You would treat her better than I could. Now isn't that right?"

The pulse in Takamichi's neck had visibly quickened, his hands were clenching and unclenching, jaw tight and muscles tense.

Fujiwara continued, "After all, it's not like she was your real mother, so it wouldn't be against nature, right?"

"Stop," he had meant to sound powerful, but Takamichi failed miserably.

"You could take her away from me and love her like a real man," Fujiwara didn't let up, even as his son started to visibly sweat.

"Stop it."

"You have plenty of servants at home, why not take advantage of them, release all that frustration. You're mother's dead Takamichi, but you persist on dreaming. Dreaming about her, taking your own release, imagining what it would be like to lie with her. Flesh on flesh…"

"ENOUGH!" Takamichi roared and Fujiwara silenced himself, watching the younger reel from his emotional crossroad, breathing hard.

"Tell me I'm wrong then Takamichi. I have noticed that you are more aggressive than before that incident," Fujiwara pointed to the bloody knuckles. "Aggressive enough to dare to take a swipe at my men. I assumed this uncharacteristic aggression was brought on by your protectiveness, your desire to not let anyone touch your mother or have anyone doubt that she was yours. But tell me I'm wrong."

The hard gaze that Fujiwara gave dared the younger man to answer with a falsehood, or to answer at all. Takamichi didn't falter. He stood still, staring right at his father. Yet he was sweating slightly, breathing heavily, fighting the feelings from showing.

He shook his head and slurred, "I…I don't…"

He didn't continue and swallowed the lump in his throat, feeling the heat rising in his face and his blood pulsing. His father planted images in his head. Sinful, abhorrent images, that would not and could not be erased. For Takamichi, he had trouble trying to get rid of them. Most of those images were his own, from his own dreams, his own fantasies; he was just denying those facts.

He had to still his desire that was quickly rising. The effort to do so made his body quake and breathing even more labored.

"She was that irresistible was she not?" Fujiwara's voice was husky and low, "I could have what you could not. To see her…"

_Anguish, passion, shame. All that remains in my existence._ Takamichi subconsciously wondered how such words could be used in conjunction with love. A forbidden love, yet he could not help but wish it as his father tormented him with words.

"…her body, so nubile and pale. Delicate and soft and warm. As you remember from her kind embraces, only her flesh would be touching yours…"

He could no longer resist. Takamichi closed his eyes, and as he did countless times before going to bed, let the memories of his late mother invade his perverse fantasies.

"Takamichi-dono," she would call, like a gentle song of a bird. He would enter through the screen that protected her from the likes of him. He would grab her hand, feel the soft skin, which would send his blood on fire. Pulling her robe apart would expose her skin to him even more, the pale flesh of her neck calling to him. He would have to taste her. He would press his lips to her collarbone. For so long as a child he had touched her skin, buried his head in her neck to feel comfort, but now it meant so much more. Her lips that had kissed the top of his head now were available for him to kiss back in thanks. She would be hesitant, possibly resistant to his advances, but if the pleasure she felt was as strong as what he felt, she would relent. He would gently kiss her lips taken by the purity and gentleness, despite the knowledge that his father claimed those lips before he did. Kissing her jaw, her neck, he would caress her through her beautiful robe. The robe however was not nearly as sweet or as beautiful as Lady Fujiwara. He would slowly pull the robe apart revealing the one thing more beautiful than cherry blossoms blooming.

He would press his cheek to her chest, feeling the warmth, smelling her scent of lilacs and fresh rain. He would slide his hand up her long firm thigh, curving over her buttock to the small of her back, dipping her back as they both softly landed on the floor.

"Takamichi-dono" she would gasp, running her fingers through his hair, brushing his bangs out of his eyes, as she did when he was young. Grasping her wrist, he would still her hand, leaning into her touch. She could sit up, bringing her to him, cradling him, brushing her fingertips along his spine. Slowly, she would undress him, baring his skin as he did hers. His flesh, he felt was not as beautiful as hers, but she would make feel like he was worthy to be touched by such a beauty. Ah, he would melt at her touch. He would allow her to touch wherever she wished. She would kiss his shoulder, just his shoulder, and he would allow his head to fall back and close his eyes, groaning his pleasure. Nothing ever felt so good.

Then she would rest her body against his, her head against his shoulder.

"What we are doing is forbidden," she would whisper. He wouldn't care. Afterword maybe, but not in that moment. Not saying a word, he would run his hand through the soft silk of her long black hair, cupping the back of her head, tilting her head up so he could kiss her again.

_They say love is colder than death, Takamichi-dono._

_Is it?_

_Ours is._

_It feels so warm, though._

_As long as it gives you happiness._

_I only wish to make _you _happy._

Their kiss, soft and sensual, would speak volumes of their turbulent relationship. The hesitance was still there, as was the knowledge that what they were doing was wrong. It was enough to stir the blood, just the same. She would remove his glasses for but a moment to kiss his eyelids. He would wrap his arms around her, pulling her to him in a tight embrace. She would respond in kind, her small delicate hands on his upper back, sending tingles down his spine.

_What will happen if we are caught, my lady?_

_We will pay for our sins._

_Sins? You are too good for sin._

_And you are too innocent to do such things. I will pay for this sin._

_But this isn't your fault._

He would lay her back down, laying on her flesh and it would be so warm against his. His lips would seek her neck, her collarbone, her breasts, feeling the perfection of her form. Her own hands would caress his skin, running her fingers through his hair. He was getting closer to nirvana; he could feel it. He never knew he could feel such sensations. Or imagine such things. He would meet her lips again, but without the softness from before. The gentleness would still be there, but with a sense of desperation. He wouldn't know what he was so desperate about.

_How does this feel, my lady?_

_How does it make _you _feel, Takamichi-dono?_

_I can't…describe it._

_Then don't, just feel._

_My lady…_

His need would be hot and pure, like his love for his stepmother. He wanted to be closer to her. To be one with her and never let her go. He wouldn't ask for permission, though he knew he should. She wouldn't refuse him though. For once he was thankful for his inheritance of his father's famed well-endowment. But that wouldn't matter to her or to him. Finally, they would be one, completing each other, him in her warm, tight embrace, sensations he never had felt before, blinding him in white hot flashes that caused his whole body to quiver. He would gasp and cry softly, dropping his head on her white shoulder, trying to stop the tears of his pleasure and emotion from escaping his eyes.

She would be patient, stroking the back of his head whispering assurances to him.

"It's alright, Takamichi-dono," her voice would sing, gentle as water. "You'll do alright."

He would nod, catching his breath, returning to the practices he was used to. Kissing and feeling her flesh. Before long, his body would move with her in a slow, rhythmic motion that could only be described as beautiful, like a field of grass rolling with the brush of wind. It would feel the same. Peaceful and calming. Sensations she always brought to him. He would have to be patient with himself. After all, she was patient with him.

_Does my father make you feel this way?_

…_you shouldn't bring him into this..._

_I…have to know…can I make you happy?_

_You already…have._

_To…feel…you…my lady… Please don't…cry. I never… want to make… you cry._

He wouldn't realize that he had tears of his own sliding down his cheeks, staining her skin, but he would do his damnedest to lick and kiss her tears away from her cheeks. His lips would close around hers, to see if they tasted different. They wouldn't. They would still taste perfect. She would still feel perfect and he would still have the desire to be like this with her forever.

She would part her lips, letting the soft wind from her lungs gasp out his name.

"Takamichi-dono."

His name on her voice would reach his ears, as if it were a beckoning. That combined with her tightening around him, would push him from the earthly confines of the room. He would gasp and surge, feeling the power and the white pureness pour over him and into his veins then out into her, filling her.

Then it would get quiet as the energy dissipated from his muscles, as if he used all that energy in making her happy. He would ease himself on the floor, in her arms and she would stroke him, comfort him, care for him.

Then, he would say it.

"I love you, my lady."

Before he knew it, Takamichi opened his eyes finding himself on his knees, hunched over, body shaking, and stickiness in the front of his robes. He breathed in looking up at his father in shame. He felt disgusting and he nearly wanted to vomit. He curled himself up even further to hide his tears and the mess in his pants.

Fujiwara sipped his sake, "Did you just-?"

Takamichi pounded his fist on the floor, wiping his tears through his glasses. If there was ever a time he needed to feel the comfort of his dead mother, it was now.

Fujiwara took pity on the boy. He had never seen anything more pathetic than this, a man who was supposed to hold the blood of Byakko within him, curled up like an insect. Sexual pleasure, and love never looked so painful.

He held out his hand.

"Can you stand?" Fujiwara asked. Rather than answer, Takamichi took his hand and stood, head still down in shame. He stumbled a little and Fujiwara placed a hand on his shoulder to still him.

"I'm a poor excuse for a man. Pathetic. I shouldn't exist…" the young man whispered.

"What would she say if you thought such things?"

He thought of what his mother said. He had a duty. A duty to protect the Miko. If he took his life and wasn't able to protect Akane, Lady Fujiwara would regret the day she let him in her house. He would feel the same. Gods, what would the Miko think? What would she do if she found out what kind of sick man he was? The one girl who smiled at him the same way his mother did.

Fujiwara smiled as we watched his son straighten, despite his condition, standing straight like any other warrior.

"My life is expendable. I will continue on as long as I serve my purpose in serving Kyou."

"What will you do after Kyou is saved and your service is rendered useless?"

Takamichi didn't see fit to answer. It wasn't his father's business, but he didn't even know.

Fujiwara sighed, "Well, your friends will be here in a few seconds."

He reached over and tousled his son's already messed up hair, in a very annoying fatherly gesture.

"You and I both share something in common: we miss your mother so much."

Takamichi had trouble believing that. The man showed little remorse in regards to his wife. He even neglected to arrive at her funeral. No, Takamichi was there for her final hour. It was he who felt her small hand grow cold and lifeless. It was he who watched her hand fall and saw her eyes close for a final rest. She was so full of life and kindness, and the man before him didn't have the decency to pray for her soul.

A knock came at Fujiwara's door.

"Sir," a voice with an accent called, "Four men and a girl have arrived. They say they are looking for Takamichi-dono."

"They must be here for you," Fujiwara said with a smirk, his piercing eyes on the spectacled boy in front of him.

"I'll let myself out then," Takamichi seethed and turned abruptly, leaving the study. As soon as he stepped out of the study, the muscular warrior outside got up from his bowed position, keeping close to him. Fujiwara followed them out to the porch.

Takamichi was led to the walkway that led up to the mansion and there he found the Miko, Tenma, Yorihisa, Shimon, and…

_Tachibana._

"Takamichi-san," Akane called and ran up to him, looking warily at the guard next to him.

"Well, Takamichi, I suppose I have one coming," the cool snide voice of General Tachibana called. The handsome older man approached closer, a disgusting smirk on his face, and for a moment, Takamichi was reminded of his father.

"Excuse me," Takamichi said to Akane sliding past her directly towards Tomomasa. Without hesitation, he brought his arm back and in a brief fit of anger, hit Tomomasa in the jaw.

Needless to say, Tomomasa was expecting a punch, but not expecting the power. His head jerked to the side and staggered backwards. Yorihisa caught him before he lost his balance.

"Takamichi-san!" Akane yelled in shock. They had never seen Takamichi so aggressive nor so…powerful, even when he fought back against the intruders who dragged him away.

"That's what you get for sticking your nose in my affairs!" the Civil Affairs Vice Minister yelled. Tomomasa rubbed the spot on his jaw that was hit.

"Are you okay?" Tenma asked, caution creeping in his tone.

Takamichi sniffed and straightened his robes, eyes shooting towards the young red head.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Tenma and Shimon glanced at each other.

"I hope your talk with your father went out okay," Akane dared to say. Ever since their encounter with Shirin a few days ago, she noticed that Takamichi was on edge and wasn't himself. She, of course, was concerned when she saw his father's men beat and restrain the struggling Takamichi. Tomomasa had said that Takamichi and his father never got along.

Now, he looked a little worse for wear. Tired, worn, and weary.

"You shouldn't concern yourself with my father, Miko-dono," the kindness returned in his voice.

The Miko pouted, "But I concern myself with you and all of the Hachiyo."

He looked down at her, his gaze soft. The dominant Takamichi was gone. He was his usual kind, if not reserved self.

He smiled, "I guess it went well. He helped me desire to become a better, stronger man for you…and Kyou.

He added that last part at the last second. The young girl nodded and smiled, reaching into the sleeve of her robe. She took out a white cloth and motioned for him to bend down. He did so and she pressed the cloth over his bloody lip.

"You still have blood on your lip and under your nose."

He stood still, not daring to make a move lest she realized what she was doing. Her face didn't show desire or love, but friendship. Takamichi sighed inwardly. Yet another complicated relationship that he would have to sort out. Alone, maybe.

"There, all better," she announced with a cheerful smile.

Off in the distance, Fujiwara gazed upon his son and the other Hachiyo.

"Thank you for telling me about the incident," he murmured. Tomomasa drew closer, a small smile on his face.

"At least I get thanks, instead of a punch," Tomomasa chuckled softly.

"You knew. About his mother."

Tomomasa shrugged, "It was a guess. I saw the way he looked at her. The way he talked to her. It was a long shot. How did _you_ know?"

Fujiwara was silent, watching the way his son interacted with the Miko. Takamichi would move on, but the stain of his mother's love would still be there as it was to him.

"The mother is man's first love," Fujiwara said.

"Does it still hurt?" Fujiwara's friend asked.

"I have never taken another wife. What do you think?"

Tomomasa sighed, "I seem to recall a ladies' man so heart broken about his wife's passing that he couldn't manage to get out of bed to see her funeral."

"A fact that Takamichi will never forgive. But I have faith."

"Faith?" Tomomasa turned to his peer.

"He is strong. Strong enough for another. And another will be there for him. Someone to care for him in much the way his mother did."

"Are you sure he will be able to move on?"

Fujiwara nodded, "He will find a lover that will show him kindness that he needs."

"And hopefully he will give her what she needs."

Fujiwara laughed aloud, "You should know Tomomasa, as I am sure your lovers have told you, Fujiwara men maybe lambs in front of the imperial court, but they are tigers in bed."

FIN


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